Viscosity
by lizfanfirst
Summary: Liason fan fiction. Speculation fiction three months into the future. Liz/Carly friendship, Liz/Sonny friendship.
1. Chapter One

viscosity  
  
chapter one  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, so on and so forth.  
  
Author's Note: Liason fic. Pure and simple. Liason, Liason, Liason. Carly/Liz friendship, Sonny/Liz friendship. Will get angsty. This part is primarily intro. Speculation fic, takes place in about three months.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please! Let me know what you think. :D  
  
  
  
Sometimes, most of the time, it was the little things that made her think about him. She'd see broken glass alongside the curb, and she'd think of him. She'd hear a door slam, and she'd look up and hope that it was him. She'd hear a sound vaguely like the cracking of pool balls, and she'd hope it was him. She'd smell the diesel odor of a motorcycle, and she'd pray he would ride by and offer her a ride.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth Webber was okay without Jason Morgan in her life. She was okay. She had to tell herself that a lot, but she was okay. She had to be okay. She had no other options. She had been okay the other times, when he had ridden away from her on that motorcycle of his, and she would be okay this time; she could see him with Courtney and be okay with it. She had to be.  
  
  
  
This was the mantra she repeated to herself every night as she closed up Kelly's, scrubbing down tables and sweeping the floors. She just told herself she was okay until she wanted to throw up. Two months; it had only been two months ago that the car accident had happened, that Jason and Brenda were exonerated of Luis Alcazar's murder, two months ago that Jason had told Sonny about Courtney, two months ago that Sonny had demanded Jason make a choice, and if Jason chose Courtney, he would regret it. Two months ago that Ric Lansing left town to attend to his own affairs. He had kissed her goodbye as they were kissing their unborn relationship goodbye.  
  
  
  
She had been relieved in a sad, weird way.  
  
  
  
She wiped down the counter and tossed the rag onto its shiny surface, and she smiled to herself. She was still standing, still breathing, and she was doing more than surviving. She may not have been happy, but she was alive. If she entertained any ideas of getting back together-or getting together for the first time or falling madly in love with each other and spending the rest of their lives together-then she would probably go insane, probably go running around Port Charles tearing her hair out. If she thought about it too much, she started realizing how much she missed him, how much she needed him, how much she was hurting.  
  
  
  
Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber were not meant to be. That was the best way to think about it. If she thought about it that way, then she could get through her days with a genuine smile.  
  
  
  
Sonny Corinthos was going to fund her art gallery opening. They had gone after everything had fallen apart and found another studio, and Sonny, who understood, Sonny, who cared like he was her older brother, Sonny had told her he would pay for all of it, because she needed something to hold onto. Even Carly was on board, tying in the opening to the opening of her club.  
  
  
  
She untied her apron and laid it on the counter next to the rag. The memories came like this sometimes, hitting her in the face like a mack truck. Nobody had called her, no one had told her what had happened; she had to see it on the news, that a car containing one Jason Morgan and one Courtney Quartermaine had crashed into a snow bank. The two were taken into the intensive care unit immediately.  
  
  
  
It had been much, much different than when Jason had been arrested for Alcazar's murder. She had known that Sonny would get Jason out of it, because Jason hadn't done it. Sonny wouldn't let his best friend go to jail, and Carly would claw tooth and nail before she saw that happen. But that, that moment when she had thought that maybe Jason was dead, she knew. And she had gone straight to the hospital. All thoughts of Courtney, all thoughts of Ric had flown from her mind, and all that existed was Jason.  
  
  
  
She tried to put the memories away, to ignore them, but they were angry and they were tearing at her, asking her to do something, say something, to run into the wind like it didn't matter. She let her legs carry her to the other side of Kelly's, and she opened and then locked the door behind her, feeling the cold, winter, night air whip up around her, pulling, pushing, prodding, pleading.  
  
  
  
The hospital had been cold, uninviting, and she couldn't seem to find anyone she knew, in spite of the fact that she knew everyone in Port Charles. Every face had been unfamiliar, terrifying. And then Sonny had seen her, come to her, and Carly had looked at her with sad eyes, and she pleaded, begged, in a tightly restrained voice if he was okay, if he had survived, if she could see him, and Sonny only shook his head and told her that they didn't know. She had felt herself start to break, but she never hit the ground, because Sonny had caught her in his arms and let her bawl in the security of his warmth until the cold snowy morning came and went, until Carly was curled up in his lap, softly snoring, and Elizabeth had stared at the walls, waiting for something, anything.  
  
  
  
Courtney had come in and out of surgery. It was Jason who had taken the brunt of the injuries. All that time, Elizabeth had tried to be strong, but she could not be strong, not that time, not with the man she loved, the man she had always loved for as long as she could remember being a woman, not with him lying in a hospital bed, cold and unaware.  
  
  
  
That was two months ago.  
  
  
  
She walked home in the still night air, walked to the studio, even though the studio held too many memories, too many fears, too many anxieties-too many memories of all the times someone had run away from someone they loved. The studio remembered the smell of Lucky, the feel of Zander, remembered the warmth of Jason, the anger of Nikolas. It remembered the small red glass fragments on the floor, some of which still lay there, embedded in the wood, and in the night sometimes they would twinkle, taunting her silently with her fear and her indecision. She opened the door, and the lights blinked at her, and she stepped over them.  
  
  
  
Eventually, the doctors had come, Tony and Bobbie, and they had looked as tired as Carly and Sonny and Elizabeth felt. Alan and Monica had watched on, their somber parents' faces firmly in place, and AJ was wandering around somewhere, being sullen and angry and aggrieved for himself.  
  
  
  
He's still in critical condition, she thought she had heard someone say. We're not sure he'll make it through the night. She thought she heard someone cry out then, and she realized it was herself, and Sonny gathered her to him, and Carly had wrapped her arms around both of them, and Elizabeth whispered to both of them that she didn't know what she'd do without Jason, and Carly had whispered back that she knew, that she understood, that she felt the same way. They were an awkward trio, joined together in a time when the person they all loved the most could easily have just slipped away and been gone forever.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth walked across the studio, dropping her coat onto the ground, unheeded. The days had become too long, the nights too dark, the days too lonely, and her hands had become too callused because of all the painting she had done. She had to. That was what she needed, the creativity, the catharsis, the expression of what she had kept inside for so long.  
  
  
  
He had survived the night, and the next one, and the next one, but he was unconscious, and they waited days just for him to wake up and Courtney had held vigil over his side, maintaining that they were engaged, that they were going to spend the night together. All through it, Carly had held Elizabeth's hand, and Elizabeth felt an affinity for the woman she had never felt before. Carly had blamed Courtney; she didn't say as much, unusual for her, but she blamed the girl for what had happened to Jason, and in some way, she was probably closer to the truth than she wanted to be.  
  
  
  
Never had Elizabeth Webber and Carly Corinthos been friends, but seeing one of the men they loved most in the world in the condition he was in made them realize something important about each other: they weren't that different. When Jason finally woke up, both Carly and Sonny had urged her to go in to see him, to talk to him, to tell him everything that had been tattooed on her face and in her heart for all the time he had been in the hospital, but she couldn't. They insisted, and she begged them not to make her. Jason didn't want to see her, she told them.  
  
  
  
As soon as she found out he was okay, she had left the hospital and gone back to her studio and started to paint. Carly had come to visit a few days later, and Sonny the day after that, but Jason had never come. Carly told her that Jason and Courtney had broken up, but she didn't know why.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth desperately needed Jason to be happy, wherever he was, whatever he was doing.  
  
  
  
She put her paintbrush down lightly on the tray below the easel, and she stared at her latest piece of work, at the mass of gray perched on the piece of wood. She had been able to create beautiful, brilliant pictures after the accident, but now it all came out gray, lonely, desolate. She could be happy without him; she was fine without him. She had new friends, friends brought to her from a near-tragedy. She and Carly went out from time to time, went shopping, went to get their hair done, and people they both knew looked at them strangely, and Carly and Elizabeth took turns snapping at them.  
  
  
  
Sonny had become a brother to her, a very caring, very protective older brother. And Jason had just disappeared from her life. Gone, never to be seen again, at least as far as Elizabeth Webber was concerned.  
  
  
  
She stared at her painting and then decided she had to get out, had to go somewhere. She was feeling too alone, too sorry for herself, and that was an ugly place to be. Her walls were caving, the bricks she had carefully laid and placed around her, building herself into a small little box, safe but confining. She picked up her coat and slid it over her shoulders, and she left the studio again, left the studio with its memories.  
  
  
  
She walked until the night air was too cold, walked until her ears were frozen and her lungs burned from the inhalation of the icy air. The world placed her down again on Pier 52, where she always seemed to end up. The irony was almost too much, but it was also beyond her. She sat down on the cold bench and she stared into the sky, waiting for it to provide her with some sort of divine answer, but she knew there would be none to have.  
  
  
  
"I wished for happiness," she called to the night air, and it whispered back to her, but she could make out no words. "I wanted love. I wanted someone to love me, and I wanted to love him back. And I found him-but he's lost now."  
  
  
  
The world had no answers for her, and she began to laugh, began to laugh because she remembered all of the times Jason had asked her to go away with him, of all of the times he had moved in for the kiss, of all of the times she had been too terrified, too frozen with fear to respond, and she had made excuses to him, because that was easier than putting herself into the position to love again. She laughed because she had once loved someone and he had been lost to her, and she laughed because she loved someone now and she had lost him because she had been too scared.  
  
  
  
"What's so funny?" she heard, and she stopped, recognizing the voice immediately, but the chuckles still disrupted her stream of thought, her giggles still interrupted her ability to speak.  
  
  
  
Jason came down the steps, and she realized that this was the first time she had seen him since the accident. He wasn't gone, he had never left, and now he was standing there, just staring at her the way he always did, just looking at her as though he could see right through her brick wall. And he probably could, she thought.  
  
  
  
"I was just thinking," she said to him, and she had to cover her mouth with her hand and bite the inside of her middle finger to keep from laughing. The familiar smile she knew so well tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he wanted to laugh at her, wanted to be amused by her.  
  
  
  
"About?" he asked, and he came and sat down next to her.  
  
  
  
"About how stupid I am sometimes."  
  
  
  
"Yes," he replied. "You are stupid sometimes."  
  
  
  
"Thanks," she told him softly, and she was acutely aware of how close he was to her. Her hands hummed, her brain screamed at her to do something, kiss him, hug him, do anything to let him know that she was still there, that she was always there.  
  
  
  
"It's dark out. It's dangerous for you to be out here, Elizabeth."  
  
  
  
She wanted him to hold her, to cradle her to him and tell her that everything would be okay, but she knew that they were beyond that. It would take more than gentle words and hand-holding to rebuild what they had. The trust had been trampled.  
  
  
  
"I have to leave again," he said to her, and her stomach plummeted.  
  
  
  
She had heard this too many times, played this game with him before. He would leave-for a year, maybe, maybe longer-and then he would come back and they would rebuild everything they had, and it was like starting from scratch.  
  
  
  
"Okay," she whispered, and her laughter had become tears that threatened to fall, and she clutched her hands, and she realized that those appendages were shaking.  
  
  
  
"I'll be back in a couple of days," he told her.  
  
  
  
She didn't understand what he said at first, but then she got it, and a warmth filled her pelvis and her abdomen and everything surrounding that, and the warmth spread like sunlight to all of her limbs. "Oh," she whispered.  
  
  
  
"I'll be back in time for your opening," he told her.  
  
  
  
"Okay," was all she could say, and he reached out his hand to her, holding it only a few inches over her clasped hands, and he hesitated. Then he pulled his hand back, as though he were afraid to touch her-even with the protection of both of their gloves.  
  
  
  
He stood and he walked away from her, not looking back, but there were promises of the future in the air.  
  
  
  
"I can love him enough for the both of us," she whispered to the night air, and she smiled so that the world could see it. It was only the beginning. 


	2. Chapter Two

viscosity  
  
chapter one  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, so on and so forth.  
  
Author's Note: Liason fic. Pure and simple. Liason, Liason, Liason. Carly/Liz friendship, Sonny/Liz friendship. Will get angsty. This part is primarily intro. Speculation fic, takes place in about three months.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please! Let me know what you think. :D  
  
  
  
Night faded into a gentle morning, brisk and cold and full of smoky promise for the future, but she wasn't the only one who had to pursue those promises. She had slept, dreamlessly, curled up on her couch in the fetal position, trying too hard to forget, trying too hard to hold the memories at bay as long as she could. When the first rays of the lonely morning hit her face, she shut her eyes to the angry light, ignoring the soft rainfall outside.  
  
  
  
Day one without Jason. She counted it that way; she shouldn't have. It would make the days so much longer, but she couldn't stop thinking about him, about his warmth, about how it had felt to feel him close to her last night.  
  
  
  
She dragged herself out of the bed, the odor of the oil-based paint permeating her skin, forever staining her cells. Everything smelled like it, but it was a comforting smell. It reminded her that she could do something-and do something well-without Jason. She only wondered what she would be able to produce with Jason.  
  
  
  
She had plans to have brunch with Carly. It was a warming feeling-for the first time in her life, it seemed, she had friends. Real, true friends. Friends who would defend her, friends who would protect her. Friends who supported her. Once upon a time, there had been Lucky and Emily and Nikolas, but those relationships had grown fuzzy, and loyalties had faded. She couldn't even remember the last time she had spoken to Nikolas.  
  
  
  
She got dressed slowly, sliding a red blouse over her slender shoulders, savoring the silkiness of it against her skin, and then she pulled on a pair of slim-cut jeans, knowing that she didn't need to impress anyone, not any more. These people in her life accepted her. She didn't need to pretend to be anyone else.  
  
  
  
If only he hadn't lied . . .  
  
  
  
The whispers came like that, ugly voices against the silence of the air. They were the what-ifs that had taken up residence inside her ears, calling to her all the time. One side started in on her, and then the other side would counter with the other argument.  
  
  
  
If only you had accepted the fact that he lied . . .  
  
  
  
And what if she had accepted it and just let it go and moved on? she always snapped back. Then what? Would that set the pattern for their relationship? He would lie to her, she would hurt because of what she thought to be the truth, and then she would find out the real truth from someone else-and then she would forgive him and they would move on until the next time he lied?  
  
  
  
She could handle his life. That wasn't the problem. She had gotten kidnapped, and she was fine. She had told him in the hospital that she had held on in that tomb because of him, and that had been the truth. She knew that if she was with him, if he let himself be with her, then he wouldn't let anyone get to her-and even if someone did manage to defeat Jason and hurt her, she knew that that man would not be alive.  
  
  
  
It seemed worth it.  
  
  
  
He just couldn't lie to her. She couldn't take that. Carly wouldn't have gotten lied to like that.  
  
  
  
She finished dressing and ran a hand back through her hair, ready to face day one. Day one without Jason Morgan.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Carly was already seated at a table in Kelly's, a cup of coffee in front of her. She stared down at a newspaper, and when Elizabeth walked through the front door, she smiled at her. A flash of blond hair distracted Elizabeth, blond hair she knew too well, blond hair she had grown to hate, and she took her seat across from Carly.  
  
  
  
"You look . . . peaked," Carly said to her, and Elizabeth ducked her head behind her hand.  
  
  
  
"Courtney. She's working."  
  
  
  
"Well, she works here."  
  
  
  
"I know, I just didn't want to see her."  
  
  
  
Carly turned her torso and looked over the back of the chair to Courtney, busily and conspicuously cleaning the counter. Then she turned back to look at Elizabeth and smiled her thin smile. "Don't worry about her," Carly said. "Frankly, I think she's gone a little nutso since Jase dumped her. I can't say I blame her."  
  
  
  
"Neither can I," Elizabeth murmured back.  
  
  
  
"Hey," Carly said softly. "What's up?"  
  
  
  
"I saw Jason last night."  
  
  
  
Carly's brown eyes widened at her, begging her to tell more. Elizabeth tried to shrug nonchalantly, but she knew that Carly knew better. "What happened?" Carly asked-demanded.  
  
  
  
"Nothing," Elizabeth replied simply. She kept her eyes glued on Courtney as she rounded the counter to serve the new customer who had come in, but the girl froze when she laid eyes on her. She seemed to collect herself, and she came over with the coffee pot.  
  
  
  
"How can I help you today?" Courtney chirped at her, and Carly leaned back in her chair like a rattlesnake, preparing to strike. "Coffee?"  
  
  
  
"Coffee would be fine," Elizabeth replied. She was trying to be sensitive, for Courtney's sake, for her own sake. Nobody had won this game; both women had lost. Elizabeth knew what it was to love and lose. She couldn't begrudge Courtney for any of it-well, for most of it, she amended.  
  
  
  
The girl reached out a shaking hand to fill the empty coffee cup in front of Elizabeth, and both Carly and Elizabeth watched her with silent pity.  
  
  
  
It's just Jason Morgan, Elizabeth wanted to say. But she knew what that meant.  
  
  
  
When Courtney was finished, they both watched her go, and Carly breathed a sigh of relief at her absence. "Weren't you friends with her once?" Elizabeth asked with a smile.  
  
  
  
"I was supportive of her because I thought Jase needed her to be happy. But I changed my mind."  
  
  
  
Elizabeth fell silent, thinking about what Jason needed in order to be happy. He needed someone to love him, to encourage him. He needed to have someone who had dreams, because he needed to believe in something. He needed someone to nurse his wounds when he was hurt, and he needed someone who wasn't going to simply sit there and do what he told her to do. He needed a friend and a lover all in one.  
  
  
  
"Just two more days," Carly told her, smiling softly. "And then he'll be back."  
  
  
  
"Yeah," Elizabeth replied. "But what then?"  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
The day crawled into evening, which disappeared into night, and then night erupted into morning again. The next day was taken up entirely with preparations for the gallery opening-hanging pictures and talking to caterers on cellphones, hanging lights and sweeping floors. When night came again, Elizabeth could feel her hands shaking with anticipation for the next day-not just for the opening, but also for Jason.  
  
  
  
She fell into a restless sleep, dreams never coming, but when she awoke in the morning, she felt relaxed, refreshed, and excited for the day ahead of her. Carly came over in the afternoon and instructed her on what to wear: a backless red shirt and a tight denim skirt. Carly helped her with her hair and makeup, because her hands were shaking too bad for her to be able to concentrate.  
  
  
  
"Sweetie," Carly had said to her, brushing her hair back from her face, "you look beautiful. And if I know my best friend like I know my best friend, he'll think so, too."  
  
  
  
They went to the gallery opening together, arms linked like there had never been any bad blood between them at all. The bad blood only made their friendship stronger.  
  
  
  
There were a great many people at the opening, from Bobbie Spencer to Scott Baldwin, from Marcus Taggert to Jasper Jax; it was the place to be, even for people who were Sonny Corinthos' sworn enemies. Elizabeth stood next to Carly, who held her arm, providing her with warmth and support; she wore her fake smile, the one reserved for those who didn't know better at all, and she just kept looking for the one face she was longing to see. She watched mutely as Sonny approached them and Carly pulled him away and demanded to know where Jason was. Sonny shrugged and told her that he was running an errand and that he said he would be back.  
  
  
  
The night crept on without cessation, and she found herself standing in front of one of her paintings, her eyes beginning to burn from the constant staring. It was a painting she had done right after the accident, of a girl staring out a window as the snow fell. It was simplistic in its technique, the color scheme too basic, but she could feel what the girl was feeling. The girl had been herself, the girl's tears her own, the girl's sadness one that stretched on in Elizabeth's heart. As she stared at it, she wondered if there was such a thing as soulmates, as true love. Maybe her true love had been Lucky; maybe Jason's had been Robin. Something in her heart was telling her differently.  
  
  
  
She felt angry, bitter tears in her eyes, and she tried to ignore them, tried to keep the mask on her face for all of her friends who kept telling her she was so talented, who kept telling her that she had done such a good job, who kept telling her that she should leave Port Charles and do something with her talent.  
  
  
  
"It's nice," she heard in that familiar husky voice, and she didn't need to turn to see who it was. She could smell him, feel his warmth.  
  
  
  
The smile spread across her face like molasses, and the tears went forgotten. "You know, that's the kiss of death-to say it's nice."  
  
  
  
"You shouldn't go by me," he responded, echoes of a conversation had long, long ago. Four years ago, she thought, that's when she had painted The Wind for him.  
  
  
  
She turned to look at him then, and she could breathe once she saw him, once she saw that his face was unbruised, his limbs unwounded. He was intact, and he was standing in front of her in the dimly-lit studio. Over his shoulder, she could see Carly and Sonny, and Carly's smile was reassuring. What was more reassuring, though, was the smile on Jason's face.  
  
  
  
He was smiling for her, at her, with her.  
  
  
  
"Hi," she murmured, still smiling.  
  
  
  
"Hi," he said back.  
  
  
  
She just looked at him, incapable of moving, of breathing, of doing anything else but stand there and look at him. She wanted to run to him, to have him fold her into his arms, to breathe him in, to cut open her chest and let him slide inside so that she could keep him there, safe forever and ever.  
  
  
  
"You came back," she said.  
  
  
  
"I said I would."  
  
  
  
He was looking at her like it hurt to do so, and she thought she could understand that. Had she had the words, she would have told him how much the last forty-eight hours had hurt so bad without him, how she had gone crazy when he was in the hospital, how she didn't want to live her life without him, how he made her life better.  
  
  
  
Then they were interrupted by a mack truck. At least, that's what it felt like to Elizabeth. Out of nowhere, there was a flash of blond, a blue dress, a wide smile.  
  
  
  
Courtney had been for Jason what Zander had been for her. Jason had just let it get too far, and Courtney had fallen too hard. Elizabeth hadn't even known that Courtney was at the opening.  
  
  
  
"Jason," Courtney said in that sugary voice of hers, almost husky and yet still high-pitched. "Can I talk to you?" she asked.  
  
  
  
Jason looked at her, and then he looked back at Elizabeth, who felt like she had been punched in the stomach, shoved to the ground, and then kicked several times. There had been times, times before the accident, when Elizabeth wasn't afraid to say what she wanted to Courtney Matthews- Quartermaine. There was something different about this time.  
  
  
  
She thought she was going to cry.  
  
  
  
Courtney would beg and she would cry and she would shiver and need to be protected, and Jason, because he was that protector-type of person, would feel sorry for her and cradle her in his arms, arms that should have been around Elizabeth, and soon enough, she would find out that Courtney and Jason were back together.  
  
  
  
She had forgotten about her friends, the ones who were protecting her, the ones who were looking out for her.  
  
  
  
"Courtney-" Jason started to say to the girl, but before he could even tell her that he was still madly in love with her, making Elizabeth's heart jump out of her throat and plunge to the hardwood floor and break into a hundred thousand pieces for Courtney to look at and then smile with her sad, pitying smile, before he could do that, Carly had swooped in on the conversation.  
  
  
  
"What makes you think you're welcome here?" Carly demanded of Courtney, grabbing the girl by her arm.  
  
  
  
Thank you, Elizabeth silently said to Carly.  
  
  
  
"Carly, I-" Courtney started, but she stopped when she saw Carly's cold, venomous eyes. Elizabeth knew that look. It was the look that had accompanied the 'I got rid of one little angel' line. How things had changed.  
  
  
  
"Carly, calm down," Jason said to her.  
  
  
  
"I'm not going to calm down, Jason. She has done everything she can to ruin your happiness."  
  
  
  
"No, she hasn't, Carly," Jason said, and Elizabeth felt her heart plummet. She understood all of the clichés suddenly, and she realized that the clichés were clichés for a reason.  
  
  
  
"Yes, she has, Jase-"  
  
  
  
"No, she hasn't," Jason said again, more definitively.  
  
  
  
"Jase-"  
  
  
  
"She wasn't responsible. I was," he said, in a tone uncharacteristically Jason.  
  
  
  
She immediately took that characterization back. It was uncharacteristically Jason-the Jason she knew now. But it was more like the Jason she had known a year ago, two years ago, four years ago. It was like the Jason she had painted The Wind for, the Jason who had told her that The Wind was his.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth couldn't help herself any longer; even Courtney's unwelcome presence couldn't keep her from responding to the look in Jason's eyes, to how he was looking at her. She felt her feet taking her quickly to him, and his arms opened immediately to welcome her into the safety therein. She felt him bury his face into her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin.  
  
  
  
It wasn't a reunion, not quite, not yet. She knew that. They had a long journey to go on. But every journey began with the first step. 


	3. Chapter Three

viscosity  
  
chapter one  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, so on and so forth.  
  
Author's Note: Liason fic. Pure and simple. Liason, Liason, Liason. Carly/Liz friendship, Sonny/Liz friendship. Getting angsty, watch out. Speculation fic, takes place in about three months. Ric left town. JIP have broken up, car accident took place. Make sure you read the first two parts!  
  
Feedback: Yes, please! Let me know what you think.  
  
  
  
It felt like drowning. It felt like struggling through a thick mass of jelly, seeing light but not knowing where it was, not knowing which direction to try to swim in. It felt like there was a heavy, heavy stone on her chest and someone kept adding more weight.  
  
  
  
It felt like dying, knowing that he was so close and yet so incredibly far away, in reach and yet completely out of reach.  
  
  
  
He had to leave the gallery opening, had to leave because Sonny told him to leave, and Sonny had looked back at her a little sadly, a little bit with pity, but with that knowing Sonny look in his eyes. Sonny told Carly who told her that Jason had some business to attend to before the club could open the following night, and Elizabeth had just smiled and nodded and let him go. Jason had pulled away from her, still holding her hand, and he walked away.  
  
  
  
It felt like goodbye. Every time he walked away from her, it felt like goodbye.  
  
  
  
She glanced at herself in the mirror in Sonny and Carly's bedroom one last time. The room smelled like Sonny and Carly, like his cologne, like her perfume. Carly was so excited about her club opening, and Elizabeth was excited for her.  
  
  
  
And Elizabeth was excited that Jason would be there. She had gone out and bought a new dress for the evening with Sonny's money; she felt bad about it, but Carly assured her not to. Sonny had money to go around. She had bought a dress that flattered her, that she liked, that suited her. She was not going to be anyone's Audrey Hepburn, nobody's little girl. The dress was close-fitting, dark blue. It had always been red; red had been her color. It almost wasn't representative of her anymore.  
  
  
  
Carly came into the room and smiled at her from the doorway. "We have to go now," Carly said to her. "Are you ready?"  
  
  
  
Elizabeth examined her mirror-image, and she smiled for her doppelganger. She had a bad feeling in her stomach, like things were going to go wrong. They always went wrong. That seemed to be the way of things.  
  
  
  
"Yup, I'm ready," she said to Carly, and she let the other woman lead her out of the room.  
  
  
  
The ride in the limo to Kelly's was silent, except for Sonny's heaving breathing. Elizabeth's eyes were intent on the movement of Carly's foot, one leg angled over the other. Up and down, the foot moved. Up and down. She made the decision that she was going to have fun-for Carly's sake. For her own sake.  
  
  
  
How things had changed.  
  
  
  
One little car accident. And everything was shattered into perspective.  
  
  
  
They arrived fashionably late, as was Carly's wish. They walked in on the proverbial red carpet, and a neo-swing band played neo-swing songs on the stage. Carly's club was a hit.  
  
  
  
"He'll be here," Sonny tried to assure Elizabeth over the vibrations of the music.  
  
  
  
"I wasn't worried about him!" she called back to him, but Sonny wasn't going to take any of it. He just smiled at her and moved away from her with Carly.  
  
  
  
She stood in the center of the dance floor, jostled by people she knew, some she didn't, people from all over, people who had come to see the opening of the club, to see the legal activities of one Michael Sonny Corinthos. She was being jerked in every direction, which she found ironically strange, because for the first time in years, she felt herself pulled in only one direction-towards Jason.  
  
  
  
It still felt like drowning, standing there amidst a sea of shadowy faces, lights glinting from white smiles, sparkles of dresses twinkling. And yet, she smiled. Because at least she knew. At least she knew what she felt. And she had never been more sure of anything in her life, not even Lucky, not even Lucky before the fire. It still felt like drowning, but she could breathe.  
  
  
  
She felt someone pull her hand, and she looked into the eyes of Nikolas Cassadine, who smiled at her and asked her if she wanted to dance, and she replied that yes, she thought she would like to dance.  
  
  
  
It was drowning, but she could smile anyway.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
One dance partner after the next, some strangers, some not, one dance partner after the next, she found herself in Jason's arms. He asked sullenly if he could cut in, and she felt breathless, her heart beating so hard against the palette of her lungs that they could almost no longer push air through them. The night had grown late, and her limbs had grown tired, but they resurged with energy as soon as she had been delivered from one partner's arms into the sanctity of Jason's.  
  
  
  
Nothing could harm her there, she knew.  
  
  
  
They didn't say anything, didn't have to, because he immediately pulled her into his arms, and she immediately lost balance, falling into him, wishing he were of less substance so that she could fall through him and pull his very essence into herself. Their bodies fit perfectly together, as they had always fit together, cut not from the same mold but from complementary molds. That was what soulmates were, after all, she thought, suffocating in the happiness of ways, suffocating from his warmth, his restrictive love- his restrictive love that somehow seemed to be endless, uncompromising, unconditional.  
  
  
  
In the end, he had always come back to her. Just like he said he would.  
  
  
  
You're not losing me, he had said to her once. I'm just going away.  
  
  
  
That's what Courtney had been, she realized. He had just gone away for a little bit, but now, here he was, she in his arms and he in hers.  
  
  
  
"You're shaking," he murmured into her ear, and she realized that he was right. She was shaking pretty badly, but his presence had steadied her; she knew he wouldn't let her go, he would catch her if she fell, and she had let go of all reason, all logic, all arguments.  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered back, unsure of why she was apologizing.  
  
  
  
"Don't ever be sorry," he said, and she felt the vibrations of his lips against her shoulder bone. They had almost stopped moving, were almost just standing there, having forgotten the music and the other people and how the world had done them so many wrongs over the years, how it had been one long poker game and they had both come up with nothing, while others, like Helena Cassadine and Zander Smith and Courtney Matthews- Quartermaine had won every single time, aces up their sleeves.  
  
  
  
She wouldn't have taken any of it back.  
  
  
  
In the end, nobody had been more responsible than Elizabeth and Jason themselves. They had used the others as weak excuses for their own inabilities to simply give in to each other; they had hesitated, their voices breaking like glass, their resolves shattering, because that was what happened when they looked at each other. Their paradox was that they made each other strong and weak at the same time.  
  
  
  
Jason was her biggest weakness.  
  
  
  
He was also her biggest strength.  
  
  
  
"I'm so sorry," she said again, and she heard her voice crack, but she didn't realize she was crying until the tear hit her chin and rolled off of it, peeling away, desperate to leave her. "I'm so sorry," she said for the third time.  
  
  
  
She was apologizing for Lucky.  
  
  
  
She was apologizing for Zander.  
  
  
  
She was apologizing for Ric.  
  
  
  
She thought she felt his lips purse on her shoulder in a kiss, and then he pulled away to look at her, his face shadowed by the dim lights of the club; she didn't care that others might be watching, she didn't care if they were judging, talking, whispering, gossiping. He stared at her in awe, as if he was confused by the sight of the tears. He put his fingers up to her cheeks and wiped some of the tears away, and then he stared at them mutely.  
  
  
  
She realized that her tears were reflected in his eyes.  
  
  
  
Jason, the cold. Jason, the inaccessible, untouchable, unfazable hitman.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth," he whispered, and his voice broke, shattering just like hers had done, and they stared at each other, confused, strangled, paralyzed with the fear that came from knowing that what one was doing was the best thing in the world.  
  
  
  
They had waited too long. How many untaken chances had they had along the way? How many times could she have simply said yes, or simply let him kiss her?  
  
  
  
"You were supposed to make me fight for you," he murmured to her, and they were so close that she felt the vibrations in his chest of his hoarse, rich voice. "I was-I was going to."  
  
  
  
She had to laugh.  
  
  
  
She wanted the truth, but what she needed was him. And somewhere, she felt that he wouldn't do it again. He wouldn't lie to her again. If he had felt even one fraction of the pain that had eaten away at her insides, hollowed her out so that all that was left was him, if he had felt even a hundredth of that, he couldn't lie to her again.  
  
  
  
"Make me fight for you," he told her, so softly that she almost couldn't hear him. He looked so upset, so beyond hope, beyond help, and she felt his hand tangled in her hair, holding her so close to him with such a gentleness as though he was afraid to break her, with such a firmness as though he was afraid of letting her go. "That's what I deserve."  
  
  
  
The tears had subsided, her fear and her sorrow gone, at least for the moment. Maybe in the morning, the sky would be gray again, but for the moment she believed that the sky could never be anything but cerulean blue. The world would exist in primary colors, and she would be able to paint whatever she dreamed of.  
  
  
  
His hand had moved, and so, too, had the other one, the one still wet with her own tears, and he was cupping her head, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. They had played this game before, but she was not going to be the one to pull away from him, not this time. She had been stupid too many times, given up on him too many times, given up on herself too many times. At some point, it had to stop.  
  
  
  
The only thing in the world she wanted was for him to be happy.  
  
  
  
The second thing she wanted in the world was for him to be happy with her.  
  
  
  
He had that Jason look on his face, the one she knew so well, the one that made her lose her breath because he was looking at her with such awe and intensity, and she realized that she had no reason to be jealous of Courtney, because that look, the Jason look, was reserved for Elizabeth Webber and Elizabeth Webber only.  
  
  
  
With the greatest hesitation came the greatest reward.  
  
  
  
He pulled her to him, but he did not kiss her. Instead his mouth lingered only aching millimeters away, and they were so close that they were breathing the same, precious air.  
  
  
  
It felt like drowning.  
  
  
  
"Elizabeth," he murmured, and that was all the encouragement she needed, just the simple, beautiful, lovely sound of her voice on his lips. She wasn't letting him go, not this time.  
  
  
  
It wasn't in her nature.  
  
  
  
When he pulled her into the kiss, she didn't fight him, didn't pull away and make excuses about how she loved Lucky or whatever silly thing it was that time. It was four years of a beautiful love culminating in a tender, searing kiss.  
  
  
  
She had never known anything like it. It was like the kiss at Vista Point, but more, infinitely, exponentially more. He cradled her head in his hands, protecting her from a violent world that would hurt her because of him, and when they broke it off, mutually, reaching a psychic agreement that air was necessary and vital to life, when they broke it off, he just looked at her as though she were the most beautiful person in the world.  
  
  
  
And with him, she felt like she was.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Champagne was the order of the day at the Penthouse when the four of them- Carly, Sonny, Jason, and Elizabeth-returned, spirits high. She hadn't been able to let go of his hand, needed to hold it to make sure he was real, make sure he was still standing next to her, still with her, not going to leave her forever and ever.  
  
  
  
She was so tired that when they went back to the Penthouse, she almost collapsed into Jason on the couch, but she couldn't fall asleep, she couldn't, because she was terrified that she'd wake up to a world once again cold and without him. Champagne had been delivered, especially for Mrs. Corinthos, the card on the bottle had read.  
  
  
  
Jason held Elizabeth in his arms, and she breathed him in, trying to memorize everything about it. It was a happy time, and she had to treasure them while they lasted.  
  
  
  
Carly and Sonny sat and watched her and Jason, and both of them smiled, beamed, were happy. Elizabeth was happy. Ecstatic. Euphoric. There weren't enough words in the English language. Carly opened the body of champagne, and Sonny told her to take the first glass, but Carly refused, saying that Elizabeth should drink the first glass.  
  
  
  
"Oh, no, I shouldn't-" Elizabeth started, but Carly gave her a look that meant it was an offer she couldn't refuse. "Okay, just a little," she replied, smiling. She struggled to sit up a little more on the couch, and she leaned to Carly to take the glass from her.  
  
  
  
"First drink, for Elizabeth," Carly announced. "And the future."  
  
  
  
The others watched her expectantly, and she stared down at the fizzy drink, and she looked at Jason. He was smiling, such a pretty smile, Elizabeth thought. "Thank you," she said softly-to all of them, but mostly to Carly, for being her friend. For standing up for her. For being there when she needed someone the most.  
  
  
  
Carly just smiled, a pure, genuine smile, and she said, "Come on, this is expensive champagne, and I want to know how it is before I break into it."  
  
  
  
"Oh, thanks," Elizabeth replied with a smile, and she put the glass to her lips.  
  
  
  
She knew something was hideously, terribly wrong immediately. As the champagne reached her throat and traveled through and then sank into her stomach, the pain hit, agonizing, angry pain coming from all directions. She thought she heard someone cry her name, and Jason's hand clutching hers seemed so tight all of a sudden.  
  
  
  
And just like that, everything was black.  
  
To be continued . . . 


End file.
